1/3/10

My Grandma turned 80 on New Year's Day. We had a party for her yesterday in the basement of her church in her small Minnesota town. I had prepared some words to say but found it hard to get them out after my cousin read something before it was my turn. I was all weepy because I heard a story about my Grandma I had never heard before, one that moved me and reminded me what family is all about, what unconditional love looks like.

The words that were shared were written by my cousin, Brent. On her 80th birthday, he described Grandma and thanked her for something that I'll always remember when I look at the people in my life, especially my boys...no matter what.

Brent was diagnosed with schizophrenia in his early twenties. He has lived through the nightmare of mental illness ever since, trying to overcome the stigma, the way people see him, what they don't understand. He has gone in and out of the hospital and psychiatrist's offices. He has spent many days walking through life clouded by the side effects from a medicine cabinet of prescriptions that fight the symptoms of the ugliest beast, but leave him tired or hungry or with his heart racing.

Brent has been fighting a battle against the lies his illness whisper to him for many years now. These whispers beg him to believe the darkest of things, and then they leave him feeling that there is no way toward his dreams.

I am certain there are few things that take more courage.

In the earliest days of his illness, we watched helplessly as something big took over Brent's life. As a family, we watched as our math wizard, Star Wars loving, game winning, quick-witted Brenty slowly slipped into a quiet and shaking person.

A person buried under the fears of his unquiet mind.

He would stand instead of sitting during meals over holidays, one arm raised in the air. And because he was still simply our Brent to us, we continued to eat, carrying on conversations and looking up when we talked to him, standing there whispering back to the voices.

We were acting out of our love for him and ignoring the discomfort of talking to a standing person who happens to be talking to themselves while we ate because he was going through so much more. Surely we could do that small uncomfortable thing while he did so much more. We could do the overcoming in those moments, it wasn't so hard. It never will be, no matter what he does or does not do.

He does the overcoming so much more than we do.

Over time, we educated ourselves on Brent's illness. We learned that schizophrenia can lie in wait, hovering around the corners of a person's mind and then springing to life, triggered by drug use or trauma. We questioned, we tried to find out, but we never knew what that thing was for Brent, the thing that flipped the go switch. We always knew that something traumatic had triggered this inevitable fall into depression, hallucinations and delusions, but Brent wasn't talking...

We knew whole-heartedly that there was something, something that had happened.

We knew how family knows.

The truth is, it never really mattered what Brent had done or not done, what had happened or not happened. Schizophrenia is an unfair thief in and of itself.

There is no blame.

Yesterday, for my Grandma, Brent shared (through his sister's voice on his written page) that in his last years of college he lived in a way that was very damaging to him. He said that one day, in the midst of all it, Grandma stopped him in her kitchen, that place so full of living, of homemade bread and soup, and she looked him straight in the eye and she said you will always belong to us. She knew something was wrong and then she said it like a command...

You will always belong to us.

Don't you dare think of leaving us. Don't you dare give up. Don't you dare think for even one moment that you aren't loved. You are ours.

Brent went on to say that remembering that moment has been something that has pulled him through over the years.

He does, you know. He belongs.

Isn't that what we all need, no matter what, to pull us through?

We need to belong.

Brent with Daughter, J and Niece, A

Thank you, Brent. Your words gave Grandma the perfect gift yesterday.

And thank you, Grandma. For teaching us all about family and love. Happy Birthday.

P.S. I'm sorry I forgot your card. I'm also sorry that it took me too long to order your gift so it's not even here yet. Life has been a bit nutty lately, but I'll get back on track.

P.S.S. I even said "clothes shoot" TWO TIMES in my last post, instead of clothes CHUTE...that's how out of it I am. I promise to bring you your gift and card very soon, especially now that we're closer.

I love that thought. I love knowing that there are people out there who *I* will always belong to. And knowing that it's important for me to show that same unconditional support and love to others in my life as well.

what a beautiful post, Heather. It comes at a very good time and reminds me of something I need to say to my cousin's son. You see, terets is his beast and because he chooses not to take his meds, he has lost everything and lives on the streets. My Aunt, his grandmother, was his one constant in his life...the one who said "always" to him. since my Aunt died, he has been calling and txting me. we live in different states. I told my husband that though he is hard to talk to sometimes, he is lonely and just needs to feel he is still part of our family....I need to say "always" to him. thx.

What a powerful lesson. It's something we often feel towards family, but rarely say it outloud. It's amazing that your grandmother did, and then that the story was shared. Happy Birthday to your Grandmother!

I lost both of my grandmothers years ago but was lucky enough to have this same message, these words of inclusiveness, of belonging, conveyed to me and to all of my family members by both of them. What comfort it gives us to know that we are part of something larger than ourselves - whether it be a family or another community.

What a wise and gifted woman your grandmother must be to share these words and this spirit with all of you. And how lovely of you to share it with us. Thank you, Heather.

Grandmas always know! They watch and they listen and they SEE. My grandmother just turned 96 and even though she can't hear she still is the one who will say it as she sees it and there's noone who can convince me of something more than her. You and your cousin are very lucky to have such a wise and loving woman in your life! Beautiful post! Happy new year!

this is why women need to be In Charge Of Things: they know what needs to be said and they say it.

Your grandmother had the wisdom to call it out: call out the ownership that feels like a bind to us occasionally, but is actually our root system that keeps us from spinning out into the atmosphere. I want to be that grandma to my family someday.

Your story has brought happy tears to my eyes. Happy tears that your family and escpecially your uncle has been blessed by such a wonderful lady. Thank you for sharing something so difficult and so special.

This is so close to home. My husband is the only one of his siblings that is not debilitated by severe mental illness. We watch them struggle to function because of voices and paranoia and mind-numbing depression. But they are ours, quite simply.

What a compelling and humbling snapshot of struggle and belonging. I believe that at bottom we all long (and constantly) for a sense of belonging, but it is so easy, too easy, to forget how much harder this longing must be for some. You paint a lovely and redemptive portrait of your cousin and broader family.

It is wonderful to be back reading your words in this brand new decade.

Heather . Thank you for gifting us the way you do.I was leaning into your words as always.They are profound and yet so authentic.And Happy Birthday to incredible woman. The gift of peace and continued grace for your Brent.

What a lovely story. Thank you for sharing it, and for sharing your Grandmother's feelings toward Brent. The stigma that accompanies mental illness unjustifiable, and yet still largely unaddressed by society. You honor Brent by bringing it up here.

My family has also been touched by mental illness, although my cousin lost his battle at a heart-breakingly young age. I am happy for you that your story has a different ending.

What a neat birthday for your grandma. I hope she has many more. and the family that surrounds her --she must be so joyful.nice tribule from Brent, there isn't anything really more important out there then knowing we belong.

you always have a beautiful way of taking a subject or situation or just plain ol' life and making it real and understood with compassion and love. we can't help but follow along and get captured in to thinking more purposefully.